Getting Off The Rocks, Neatly.
This is the story of one couple and the impact of alcoholism on their life. Neither one of them were ever perfect, nor do they want to be. Neither one of them are bad people, and never looked at each other way. They have a loving and compassionate marriage. But that didn’t stop alcoholism from destroying their life as they knew it.
They don’t know what comes next. All they know is that they will make it through today.
She writes more than he does. She is not an alcoholic.
He writes less than she does. He is an alcoholic.
They are doing this publicly because they know they are not alone and want others not to feel alone. We all do this differently. They will do it with the same loving compassion that has defined their marriage.
Which doesn’t mean that there won’t also be a lot of anger, sadness, confusion and desperation. It’s all part of the deal.
Leave a comment, ask a question, let’s talk about it.
There is no shame in this.
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1. Amy | July 3, 2008 at 10:13 pm
I found your blog through blogher and I want you to know you are not alone. 23 weeks and 3 days ago, a cop showed up one my doorstep at 2:30 am. With my husband. I thought he was at work (he is a PhD student and works LONG hours). He was in town drinking. Some wonderful people, who I wish I could hug, called the police when they saw him stumbling by our van (we have 3 kids). That was the single worst moment of my life.
He has been sober for 23 weeks and 2 days. I could not be
prouder.
The road has been long and hard. Those first days were the hardest to get through. But we made it. There were times I thought I was going to walk out. I did not want to be the strong one anymore. I am so glad I stayed. I love my husband more now than I did in January.
I wish you both the best. Let me know if I can do anything.
2. Kip | July 4, 2008 at 2:35 am
He
He stared at the yellow bile in the toilet bowl. Vomiting had become a morning ritual. Denial was a powerful force, and had now become his best friend. The vomiting was a result of a perceived ulcer he told himself, and denial agreed. Following the morning ritual, he would slip into the garage where hidden bottles of vodka lived. Just a sip to relax, he told himself, denial helped him forget that there were typically many trips to the garage during the course of a day…just to relax. “24” for him had its own special meaning.
Listerine breath mints, Dentyne Gum, and cologne were close friends as well, masking the scent of his denial. Hiding became part of his fabric, his personal demented landscape.
Denial also liked to play jokes on him. He would occasionally workout in the morning, a spin class or an hour on the Elliptical, proving to himself he was really just fine. Denial laughed. Following the workout he would have a little vodka with his coffee, justifying his drink as a reward for exercising.
Other rituals had also become prominent in life. One he practiced often was lying to his wife. “I am running out to get a paper” he would tell her…translation…”I am running out to get some vodka”. When she confronted him with the bottles of alcohol she found in the garage, he calmly lied to her, denial at his side….”I believe those were there before we moved” he replied.
Near the end, he had an increasingly hard time getting out of bed….”depression, flu, heart issues” he would say, knowing the hidden bottle of Gatorade with vodka was close by. This year he wasn’t able to get out of bed to watch his children open Christmas presents. Denial was very proud of him….he had become a complete fraud.